LITMIR.BIZ

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as it were. You see, I get on very well with the soldiers, being a fellow comrade in arms. But the widows are reluctant to ask me for assistance. I know they need help, but they cannot bring themselves to ask a man. So I thought perhaps they would feel more comfortable if another woman were there, helping out.”

      Work together? “That sounds fine.” While she had his full notice, she flashed her dimples by giving him a slow, easy smile. He straightened and turned away from her, a flush staining his thin cheek. So he was susceptible to flirtation, then? She chuckled inwardly. It was so delightful to be walking with a young man again, smiling and talking playful nonsense rather than working away in her sewing room. She had almost forgotten how fun being a woman could be.

      “We’re here. Guildhall Market.” The lieutenant’s voice was cold and remote once more, as though he had shut a door between them. She didn’t like that tone of voice.

      “Oh, Lieutenant. Thank you for getting me here safe and sound.” She should release his elbow, but this lieutenant was too much of an enigma to let go—not before she had spent a bit more time in his company. “Do you mind very much waiting for me, and then you can point me in the correct direction back to Lord Bradbury’s house? I am so afraid I will get lost again.”

      His jaw muscle set, and his strong, firm lips tightened. Yet when he spoke, his voice was well mannered and courteous. “Of course, Miss Handley.” He strolled with her over to the haberdashers, and bowed as she went in.

      As she sorted through the bins to find the perfect set of buttons, she flicked a glance out the streaming windowpane to Lieutenant Cantrill as he stood outside, waiting. He exuded an air of casual power, as one trained as a soldier should. His broad shoulders were encased in a wool jacket that was simply cut but well made. His face was a trifle thin. Did he have a housekeeper who cooked for him? Perhaps one of the ladies at the veterans’ group? She’d have to be an old woman, not young and sweet.... An unreasonable pang of jealousy tore through Sophie, and she shrugged it off.

      What did it matter what he ate or wore, or even whom he kept company with? Lieutenant Charlie Cantrill was merely her brother-in-law’s dearest friend. And while she loved flirting with him—she always loved a challenge, after all—’twas no business of hers what the lieutenant did in his spare time.

      * * *

      Dash it all, Sophie Handley was far prettier than he remembered. When he attended John and Harriet’s wedding a few months ago, Sophie was among the crowd in the chapel and later at the wedding breakfast, but he hadn’t taken careful note of her. Her cheeks were sallow, and her eyes were still glazed with something like shock back then. Probably their mother’s death, which was surely difficult. But still, that creature bore no resemblance to the rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed sylph who gazed up at him as if—well, as if he was a man and she a woman.

      He spied her through the window of the shop as she made her few purchases. Even in a sodden calico dress, she was more graceful and attractive than most of the women plodding along the streets of Bath. He shook his head and turned away from the window. Pretty women had always been his downfall. He should have learned his lesson by now.

      Mother’s letter rustled in his greatcoat pocket. Ah, a reminder of his familial duties: to find a young girl, marry, have children and give up that ridiculous charitable fund for soldiers. Well, Mother might want him to marry someone like Sophie. But he preferred his life of simplicity and generosity.

      And ’twas better to set some distance between him and Sophie Handley, unless he wanted to be made a fool of once more. Since Sophie was his best friend’s sister-in-law, ’twould be disastrous indeed to find himself being led a merry dance by her.

      The door of the haberdashery opened, and Sophie stepped out. “Thank you for waiting.” Her voice was lovely. Perhaps she could sing—that would explain her musical tones.

      Careful, man. You have your marching orders. Do not become yet another fool.

      He offered his elbow once more. “Did you find what you need?”

      “Yes.” She waved the parcel triumphantly, heedless of rain. “Perfect buttons, so cunningly made of horn. They will set off the riding habit just so.” She sighed and snuggled against his side as they strolled along. He stiffened and moved a fraction of an inch away from her—not so much as to be discourteous—but they did need boundaries, after all. If Sophie noticed, she said nothing.

      He piloted her down Grand Parade Street. Lord Bradbury lived in the Crescent, he was sure, with the rest of the haute monde of Bath. So they had a good quarter of an hour before they reached his door. Charlie sighed inwardly. He didn’t mind the walk so much, but dash it all, it was pouring by now.

      Sophie glanced up at the sky and then turned to him. “The heavens have opened.”

      He nodded, tightening his lips into a grim line. “So it appears.”

      She paused, causing several pedestrians to push round them. “I hate for us both to get soaked, and since you are so close to being home, I can’t ask you to walk me all the way back to Lord Bradbury’s. Shall I take a hackney?” She darted a glance around his shoulder, scanning the street.

      He hated to waste money on hackneys, committed as he was to a simple life, but desperate times meant hiring a carriage. Sophie would be drenched by the time they reached her employer’s if they didn’t, and he wasn’t about to let her travel on her own. “We’ll go together. It will be my pleasure.”

      He hailed a hackney with his wooden hand—funny how quickly the drivers halted when he used his prosthesis, though how anyone could see it through the driving rain was beyond him. He boosted Sophie inside and gave orders to the driver before climbing in and shutting the door.

      Sophie relaxed against the seat, her gold ringlets sparkling with raindrops. They gave her a fairy queen appearance, and he resisted the urge to brush the droplets off with his gloved fingertips. He sat up straight, pressing his back against the cushion, and stared down at the dusty floor. Looking up at her was too dangerous by far.

      “Ah, this is so much better. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

      He could not look up, so he merely shrugged. “It was your idea, after all.”

      “True.” She fell silent, and stared out the window. ’Twas a relief indeed not to have those luminous blue eyes settling on him. Sophie Handley was a most unnerving creature.

      He shifted around, and the letter in his pocket crackled once more. When he got back to his flat, he’d throw the dratted thing in the fire. It made a noise every time he moved, and each time it did so was yet another reminder that his family thought him a wretched failure.

      “Lieutenant, I cannot help but wonder if something is preying upon your mind. You seem so distracted.” He could no longer resist looking at her—a magnet was drawing him to her. “You helped me. Can I assist you in any way?”

      He started to shrug off her offer, but paused. Could Sophie Handley possibly help him out of this mess?

      “I—uh.” Charlie coughed, clearing his throat. “I had a letter from home, and it’s all I have been able to think on this morning. Even when I was working with the veterans as I was earlier in the day, my mother’s words have captured my full attention. I apologize that I am so distracted.”

      “Not at all, Lieutenant.” Sophie clasped her hands in her lap and regarded him evenly. “Letters from home can be welcome, or they can serve to remind you why you left home in the first place.”

      He surprised himself by laughing aloud. How very true that was. And nicely put, too. “Indeed.”

      “My sister Harriet’s letters are always so didactic. ‘Do this. Don’t do that.’ I know she means well, but it becomes tiresome to be lectured to in such a fashion.” She smiled, her lips turning up mischievously at the corners, highlighting her dimples once more. “Of course, with a letter, you can always fling it in the fire. This makes it a much more pleasant way to receive lectures than standing there in person, taking orders.”

      He

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